


Icy Diplomacy

by Zaniida



Series: Open Chapterfics (MCU) [7]
Category: Thor (Movies)
Genre: Angst, Better Kingening too, Better Parenting, Galaxy-friendly, Gen, Loki didn't see this coming, Odin (Marvel)'s Good Parenting, POV Loki (Marvel), POV Odin (Marvel), Thor (Marvel) is Not a Good Bro, and he's got his own things to deal with, and he's not a Karma Houdini, but he's not the worst bro either, family secrets revealed, is the thing
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-12-09
Updated: 2021-04-02
Packaged: 2021-04-17 16:01:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 8,187
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21733885
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zaniida/pseuds/Zaniida
Summary: In the aftermath of the Jotunheim fight, Loki finds himself left behind—and Odin has his reasons for being a little slow to the rescue.
Relationships: Loki & Odin (Marvel), Odin & Thor (Marvel)
Series: Open Chapterfics (MCU) [7]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1490789
Comments: 124
Kudos: 199





	1. Through the Ice

**Author's Note:**

  * For [KiwiMeringue](https://archiveofourown.org/users/KiwiMeringue/gifts).
  * Inspired by [What Once Was Lost Returned](https://archiveofourown.org/works/334503) by [DemonQueen666](https://archiveofourown.org/users/DemonQueen666/pseuds/DemonQueen666). 

> So… I'm basically done with my November project. Well, more accurately, I'm done with the "focus on this exclusively for a month" aspect of the project (which was quite productive). That means I can get back to writing fics.
> 
> But it's been over a week since the turn of the calendar page, and the only thing I've managed to write up enough to publish is this. Which is, notably, not any of the things I'm supposed to be writing. For more information on my priority list, and what's holding me back for various fics, see [this blog post](https://www.pillowfort.social/posts/961696).
> 
> Anyway, short version: My Muse bugged me until I wrote this, and so here, have a chapter. I doubt I'll follow up on this soon, but you never can tell with the Muse. This certainly isn't my focus for the near future. And I still hope to update like three fics this month, including _Tremble and Serve_ (which I've got _nearly_ a chapter done on, but I'm struggling with part of it), but we all know how skilled I am at predicting the future.
> 
> Sigh.
> 
> This was inspired by a piece I originally read on Norsekink [here](https://norsekink.livejournal.com/3231.html?thread=6203807). Got alerted that it's also on AO3, so I've fixed the link, but there's some commentary and such on the Norsekink thread as well, so I'd like to keep that connected. Thanks, bianca!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Jotunheim_, he thinks, dazedly. _I… fell_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Content Warnings:** For this chapter, there's just a bit of blood, some mild (for Asgardians) damage, and a mention of… I guess, technically, it wouldn't be cannibalism, but still—Loki has some unflattering beliefs about what the Jotnar do to their prisoners.
> 
> Oh, and terror, but that comes with the territory ^_^

Something cold and wet hits Loki in the face, and he flinches, but can’t muster his thoughts enough to move. A crunching, crumbling sound echoes around him, like footsteps in snow, and then the sudden _crack_ of ice.

_Jotunheim_, he thinks, dazedly. _I… fell_.

Lying on the ice like this, with the frigid wind brushing against his skin, he should feel colder. He feels… soothed, like those summers he got heat stroke and the healers resorted to ice baths to bring his temperature down.

None of the other children got heat stroke, just from enjoying the sun.

_Thor_ never got heat stroke.

A sudden dazzle of colors makes it through his eyelids, and he blinks up at the shadow above him, backlit by the dancing light of the Bifrost reflecting off the walls of the cave.

So Thor’s… leaving? Going home? The others wouldn’t leave without him; he has to have gotten free.

Maybe he’ll summon help, come back for Loki? Loki swallows down a sound that’s half chuckle, half sob; he knows how little Thor values him these days. As the Bifrost fades, he tries to content himself with the thought that at least Thor got safely away.

Norns, his ribs hurt. It hurts to _breathe_.

Above him, blotting out the ever-dim light of Jotunheim, the shadow’s getting bigger—darker.

Farther up, two silhouettes peer over the edge. Sharp-edged, with horns.

_Jotnar_, not Aesir, and Loki suddenly realizes what the shadow is.

Sheer terror gets him on his feet again, stumbling, woozy, turning desperately to find an escape path but seeing nothing but different shades of darkness. His feet slip on the ice, and when he feels something stir the air behind him, he darts away only to slide straight into a wall of frozen rock.

Shoving off from the wall—head ringing, nose dripping blood—he whirls to face his attacker, conjuring two daggers and flinging them straight at what he guesses would be the neck. But the lumbering creature just keeps coming, reaching out a huge, meaty hand that doesn’t stop even when Loki slices at it with another dagger. He ducks under the fingers as they try to close about him, but the slippery surface offers no purchase, and then the hand’s shoving him down against the ice, crushing his breath from his body.

Pulled into the air, he can’t even cry out, too dazed, for a moment, even to struggle. His heart hammers in his chest, and he swallows the taste of his own blood as he sees the ice shelf flowing past him, as though he’s falling once again—except this time, he’s rising. When he manages to raise his head a little, he sees the other giants growing larger, their expressions hidden in the gloom.

The lumbering beast who retrieved him finally nears the surface, and lifts Loki in a dizzying swoop up to the two who wait for him—smaller giants, though still nearly twice as tall as any Aesir. Before Loki can even get his feet under him, they’ve grabbed his arms.

Though he struggles to pull away, it’s hopeless; he has no choice but to stumble along between them, seized by the unrelenting terror of his childhood nightmares.

Thor escaped, right? Loki’s ploy worked? It had to have worked.

Did the others make it back to Asgard? Or are some of them still here, already captive? (They wouldn’t be hiding; Thor’s friends are too ‘courageous’ to hide.) Is he the last to be found?

He shudders, trying not to picture his fate, trying not to recall the tales he grew up on, the horrible feasts that the frost giants partake in whenever they have access to Aesir flesh.

Even if Thor cares enough to seek help, it might already be too late.

* * *

In two quick strides, Odin is at Heimdall’s side, the light of the Bifrost fading behind him as Thor’s little gang murmurs in growing dismay.

“Can you see him?” Odin demands, low.

“Mmm,” the gatekeeper rumbles. “He has fallen far beneath the top layer. Hurt, but not severely. They are retrieving him.”

“What?!” Thor explodes. “Father, we must—”

“_You_ must get your friends to the healers,” Odin counters over his shoulder, coldly. “Or did you not hear me the first time?”

“And leave Loki in the hands of those monsters?!”

“Since when do you even _care?!_ ” Wheeling on Thor, Odin advances, barely mastering his fury enough to form coherent sentences. “So caught up in the lust for battle that you didn’t even notice your friends getting hurt, your brother falling through the ice. Look at the consequences of your actions, you foolish, _arrogant_ boy!”

Thor quails, eyes wide—Odin hopes in realization that he’s crossed a line they might never recover from. But there’s no time to focus on his older son, not now. “Go,” Odin commands again. “See to your friends. See if you can make this a little better, somehow. I’ll deal with you when your brother is safely home.”

And yet, as Thor takes Fandral over his shoulder and flings himself toward the palace, leaving Sif and Hogun to see to Volstagg… Odin cannot bring himself to open the Bifrost again. Not yet.

Heimdall, the embodiment of duty and loyalty, does not question him, but merely waits for orders, his face as impassive as ever.

A shaky sigh passes Odin’s lips. “Would that I could sit on Hlidskjalf and see for myself how he handles this,” he muses. “But I shall have to see through _your_ eyes, old friend. Laufey is too crafty to harm such a valuable bargaining chip, and…” He trails off, reluctant to give voice to his other concern.

“There is no direct evidence that Loki let the Jotnar into Asgard.”

“No… but the Jotnar are not fond of sorcery. There are not many who can walk between worlds… and I know of only one mage in all Asgard who specializes in evading your gaze.” His shoulders slump a little. “It is hard to come to any other conclusion.”

Soberly, Heimdall nods.

“I must know how far his designs extend. Until today, I had thought his tricks to be relatively harmless, and I have never seen cause to question his loyalty… to the Realm, if not to the one who holds the throne. But if he plots with the Jotnar…”

But Heimdall is shaking his head, his gaze focused far away. “He is with them now, but not willingly. And where they touch him, his skin has turned blue.”

Odin pales. “Does he know yet? Has he figured it out—or have they told him?”

“I cannot read the minds and hearts of men,” Heimdall says, slowly, “but from what I _can_ see… he seems to be terrified.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I debated about splitting up the Loki section from the Odin section, given that the rest of the fic is likely to be a split POV. If it turns out to work well with a clear split between Odin chapters and Loki chapters, then I probably will give Loki the even chapters (even though, by all rights, Loki should always have the odd chapters). But these just felt too short to post as separate chapters, and anyway they end at about the same place, so it felt like a fake cliffhanger ("didn't we just _have_ that cliffhanger at the end of _last_ chapter?"), and I didn't want to do that to y'all.
> 
> Anyway! This fic was partly inspired by a [very long fic](https://norsekink.livejournal.com/3231.html?thread=6203807) (over 100 parts) on the Norsekink forum, wherein Loki gets captured on Jotunheim and ends up discovering his true identity and having to come to terms with it and all. I haven't even read the whole thing, though what I read of it was quite enjoyable.
> 
> My piece isn't going to tread the same ground; I just wanted to acknowledge it, and point people at it, for those who like Jotunheim fics or Jotun Loki fics. As far as my fic, well, I have a good strong idea of where I'm going with it, start to finish (though, of course, that's not always how things happen), and I don't really want to say more due to spoilers leaking through. But it won't be set on Jotunheim, and Loki isn't going to stay here very long; it's more of a "start the chain of events" kind of thing, a What If for if the Jotunheim Incursion had gone a bit differently.
> 
> Also, I kinda wanted to name this something like _Cold Equations_ or _Cold Solutions_ or the like, but that would hint at a much darker story (given the original and well-known stories by those names). But it would've been nice to be able to use the title to point at Odin having to calculate out the cost of his decisions here, and what it'll cost both of his boys.
> 
> * * *
> 
> **While I'm At It:** <strike>Does anyone know where this "Laufey King" stuff came from?</strike> Thanks to people who chimed in to finally point me at the right information! I much appreciate it ^_^
> 
> (Original Version: I have seen it _all over the place_. Not "King Laufey" but "Laufey King." I know of no other place that I have ever seen such usage. I don't know if people are drawing from an established canon or mythology that I'm as yet unfamiliar with, or if it's a piece of fanon that has become ubiquitous (maybe mishearing "Laufey, King of the Frost Giants" as "Laufey King, of the Frost Giants" or some such? or a language error from someone who's not native to English?). But I'm seriously itching to know where it came from.)


	2. Before the Ice Throne

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “If indeed you are the son of Odin,” Laufey drawls, “then surely you know full well the rules laid down by the Allfather. So I would ask, again, why you are here, in my Realm, which has been forbidden to all those of Asgard.”
> 
> Trembling, Loki casts about for something to say, a justification for his presence that doesn’t put him in an even worse spot, and yet also doesn’t lay the blame on Odin or Thor or Asgard. Why _is_ he here?
> 
> Because Asgard thinks so highly of their golden prince that they’ve overlooked his every flaw… because Thor is a warmonger, and even Laufey knows it. Putting him on the throne would have brought all Asgard to its knees.
> 
> He can’t say any of that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All righty, finally an update to a fic! Not by any means the top-of-the-list fics, but hey, an update is an update, and it was easier to write this one on account of the atmosphere (we've just had our first real snowfall of the year; too bad Jotunheim (at least in this fic) doesn't have trees, because near us, they are gorgeous).
> 
> Anyway, it's time to see what Laufey has to say to his 'guest'!
> 
> (As usual, sensitive readers, please check the End Note for content warnings. Nothing bad really happens in this chapter, but Loki's fear is ramped up a bit, and there are some little things that might trigger certain readers.)

The giant ice throne looms ahead as the giants drag Loki back to the place where this whole disaster started—where, not an hour ago, Loki had attempted his best diplomacy to bargain for their release, right before a not-so-subtle insult had blown everything right to Hel.

With that short-lived truce _thoroughly_ shattered, with Thor and his friends gone and Loki unsure of his own fate, he finds that he can’t stop trembling. Norns, he wishes his body wouldn’t betray him this way. The jeers he’s grown up with mock him from memory _(coward, trickster, ergi)_ and he flushes with shame to show such weakness before Laufey.

The towering king of the frost giants sits there, atop the throne, as if he’d never left—as if he’s part of the scenery, old and unyielding as the frozen cliffs. Even when Loki’s captors come to a halt before him, Laufey barely seems to breathe; only his eyes move, looking Loki over with a piercing gaze.

As long minutes pass in silence, Loki tries not to visualize what his eventual fate might be. He is a son of Odin, and if today is the day he sees the Valkyrie come for him, then he is willing—as much as it is possible to be willing, at his age—to face his fate like any warrior of Asgard.

At length, Laufey slowly rises from his seat and steps down off the throne, in no apparent hurry, showing no clue as to his intentions as he approaches. Once in arm’s reach—his own, not Loki’s—he squats before his prisoner, his legs creaking and snapping like an unstable ice floe, and brings his eyes nearly level with Loki’s to inspect him more closely.

_I am a son of Odin_, Loki reminds himself. _So long as that is true, I can face anything_.

He has to believe that.

“Why have you come here?” Laufey asks, finally, voice slow and rumbly, betraying nothing of his feelings on the matter. “You’re far too small to be a warrior.”

The familiar tone of the insult rouses a wave of indignation under the fear, but, unlike Thor, Loki smothers his first impulse; pointing to the Jotnar he’s just killed would do little more than hasten his own demise. And Laufey had said as much of Thor: _Why have you come here? To make peace? You’re nothing but a boy, trying to prove himself a man_.

Instead, Loki reaches for more calculated words, though they come out tight, through trembling lips: “One n-need not be as tall as a g-giant to be a warrior of Asgard.”

“A warrior?” Laufey’s grin mocks him. “Why, you’ve hardly lost your baby fat.”

The images of a possible feast rise up again, and Loki’s heart pounds in his ears. He has no idea if they’ll be more likely to kill a warrior than a child, but he refuses to abase himself to that degree. “I assure you,” he returns, “I’ve had ample experience on the battlefield.”

“Mmm,” Laufey rumbles, and cocks his head to one side. “I confess I’ve had little practice at guessing the ages of those from Asgard, but you do _seem_ like a child.”

He has to bite back an acerbic protest, from centuries of being thought less capable—less worthy—simply _less_ than his brother, even as they rode into adventures together and claimed victory side by side. And that was before Thor, too, had begun to think of him as somewhere beneath him, beneath _notice_.

Drawing from his lessons in diplomacy, he seeks for a way for neither side to lose face: “Are the Jotnar still children, then, after a thousand winters?”

“Ah, I see,” Laufey murmurs, nodding slowly. “Well, then, _warrior_… I would know your name.”

Another flush of shame at the reminder: Thor is well known among the Nine, but Loki has always existed in his shadow; of course Laufey wouldn’t recognize him. He forces himself to stand straight, chin up, as if he weren’t still held in the grip of a frost giant to either side. “I am Loki Odinson,” he says, “Silvertongue, and second prince of Asgard.”

“Intriguing,” Laufey says, after a moment. “Our guest is of royal blood,” he adds, waving off the guards. “We must show him more respect.”

When the hands release him, Loki wonders, briefly, if there might be a chance here: throw an illusion, sneak away, make it back to the Bifrost site. But then, it’s already opened once, to retrieve Thor and his friends, and now the light is gone, and Father isn’t here to retrieve him. Has he been abandoned?

And if the Bifrost won’t open for him, what then? Hide here on Jotunheim? Try to find the rift he stumbled across, the one that leads to Asgard, even though he’s never seen it from this side? He has no landmarks to go by; all he’d seen was frozen rock, like everything else around him. How long could he last here, on his own? He’s not even sure what the giants actually _eat_.

Besides, would he even be able to get away to begin with? His illusions do little more than fool the eyesight, give an impression of sound; they can’t block scent, and covering his footprints would take all of his concentration. If the giants track him down…

No, it’s better to talk, at least for now, and leave his illusions as a backup trick for if—when—the diplomacy turns sour. And hope that he’s rescued before that happens.

“If indeed you are the son of Odin,” Laufey drawls, “then surely you know full well the rules laid down by the Allfather. So I would ask, again, why you are here, in my Realm, which has been forbidden to all those of Asgard.”

Loki’s gut clenches and his eyes tear up involuntarily, because he _does_ know the rules, and he _did_ know the rules—he learned of the Allfather’s decree from storybooks his mother read to him before he could _talk_—and yet he defied them to come here. And he’s not hidden from Heimdall’s sight, so his father _should_ know by now, and yet… he wonders, again, if he’s been abandoned to this fate. Perhaps, having already rescued the heir apparent, Asgard will turn a blind eye to the lesser prince, who should have known better than to bypass an edict that has been in place since the last war.

It might not even be Odin’s choice; there are matters of law that not even the Allfather can overrule. Perhaps he cannot risk another confrontation here, even to save his own son.

If Loki had only managed to get back to the Bifrost site with the rest of them…

“Tears, young warrior?”

Loki flinches when Laufey’s hand comes up, a massive finger gently raising his chin. Laufey’s eyes darken—sudden, intense interest, a sign Loki has learned to look for in negotiations—and his lips spread into something like a smile before he lets go.

Trembling, Loki casts about for something to say, a justification for his presence that doesn’t put him in an even worse spot, and yet also doesn’t lay the blame on Odin or Thor or Asgard. Why _is_ he here?

Because Asgard thinks so highly of their golden prince that they’ve overlooked his every flaw, while they constantly berate Loki for every way he fails to be like Thor.

Because Thor is a warmonger, and even Laufey knows it: Putting him on the throne would have brought all Asgard to its knees.

Because whenever Loki tried to call Odin’s attention to this fact, the Allfather brushed him off, as if Loki were only seeking to discredit Thor in order to win the throne for himself.

He can’t say any of that, but he must say _something_. Staying silent isn’t going to help him or Asgard.

Regardless of the provocation, Loki’s the one who caused all this in the first place—not that he’s going to admit to that, not to Laufey. Which makes it less than just to lay the blame on the frost giants, for rising to the bait… besides, blaming them would likely get him killed all the sooner. But he can’t come up with a better story that’s still plausible, and Laufey already knows a little of what happened.

_How did your people get into Asgard?_

_The house of Odin is full of traitors. We have the right to reclaim the Casket_.

“Frost giants broke into the weapons vault,” Loki admits, finally. “Our defenses proved strong enough to destroy them, and Father—Odin—held that the matter was settled. He would not have sought further reparations.” He realizes that he’s picking at his hands again, and forces himself to stop. “My brother was not content with our father’s response,” he adds, phrasing it as diplomatically as he can manage. “He led us here to seek redress. I… cannot claim anything of my brother’s motivation, but, for my part, I did not come here thinking to kill.”

“Oh? Then what were your plans, little one?”

He takes in a deep breath. “I’m well aware that my brother can sometimes act rashly, and let his temper get the better of him. He was outraged—and not without cause—but the matter is… delicate, between our Realms, and I had hoped that being at his side, I could… remind him of our duty, and perhaps curb the worst of his… fervor.”

Laufey huffs. “You did not think to simply stand aside, and let him bring ruin on his own head?”

“He’s my brother!” Loki protests before he can think better of it. “Do the Jotnar know nothing of family?” The rage pushes back his fear, a little, before he realizes the lack of diplomacy in his wording. “B-Besides, he is the crown p-prince; whatever harm he might do would reflect on all Asgard. I could hardly stand aside and let him bring us back to war.”

“And yet you claim to be a son of Odin,” Laufey muses. “Where did you learn to seek peace instead of power?”

A sudden image of his mother makes him choke down a sob, trying not to focus on the fact that he might never see her again. That she might soon be mourning him, and that it might be entirely his fault.

“Or do you speak of peace merely to save your own hide?” Laufey murmurs, dark and low. “Is that the bargain here? Do they even know you are missing, I wonder? Did they realize that they left you behind?” His face grows hard. “When the Allfather came to retrieve your companions, he bid me treat their actions as those of children. Dozens, perhaps hundreds of my people, dead at your hands, at the hands of those who came _looking_ to make war, and I am to turn my wrath aside so easily as that? And **_this_**—”

Suddenly Laufey’s hand is around Loki’s neck, his long fingers stretching up behind Loki’s ears and into his hair. Not squeezing, though the fury on Laufey’s face is far less controlled than his hand.

“**_This_**,” Laufey repeats, his voice echoing back from every direction. “The **_insult_**, come to light. I find it hard to believe that it’s a coincidence, you coming here.”

It’s too late to escape; he should have, should have run, should have tried his luck, but it’s too late and the cold is creeping up his neck into his hairline, his eyes blurred with renewed tears.

His mother will be mourning him after all.

“He took everything we had,” Laufey muses, still staring into Loki’s face, although his gaze is somewhere far away. “It was not enough for him to drive us back to our own Realm; he left our homeland in ruins, lacking its most precious treasures. I cannot be surprised that his son brings war and death to our cliffs yet again. But if Odin did not plan this…”

The fingers tighten on his neck, just the tiniest bit, and Loki knows the end is coming; he draws together what courage he has left, and pulls a dagger, stabbing it deep into Laufey’s arm.

If he is to die here, then he will do it like a son of Asgard.

The fingers drop away—“Hold!” Laufey shouts—and Loki pulls back, ready to throw an illusion and run—but as he blinks away the tears, he realizes that the ice around him looks… different. Bright, and colorful, in ways he doesn’t have words for. The blood dripping from Laufey’s arm swirls with colors, like an oil slick, and even the Jotnar themselves shimmer in the dim and shifting light.

Breathing hard, Loki glances down at his hands and sees the same colors dancing there, along the surface. He gasps, almost like a sob, and then Laufey’s other hand grips his shoulder and he looks up into the shining, shifting face of the being he has feared since childhood.

“What—what did you—” Loki stammers out, for there is no magic he knows that could change his perceptions so completely. “Wh-what have you d-done to me?”

“Oh, little warrior,” Laufey says, a fierce grin spreading across his face. “Perhaps there is something to be gained today after all.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Content Warnings:** Loki's terror gets ramped up (he really thinks that Laufey's gonna kill him, and for a while he believes that Asgard (including his father) has abandoned him), but nothing really bad happens. At one point, Loki stabs Laufey, and Laufey bleeds in an unusual way.
> 
> Laufey puts his hand around Loki's neck, as if to strangle him, but does not do anything worse.
> 
> Loki's unwilling (and unwitting) transformation into his Jotun form is seen from the inside, confusing and terrifying to Loki (who, unlike in the film, either doesn't guess what's happening, or is trying to convince himself that it's not what he thinks it is).


	3. Instability

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Your heir defied one of your most ancient laws; is there to be no penalty for him, no recompense for us? He marched upon Jotunheim, thirsting for blood. I watched him ignore the calming advice of others, and then, over a simple insult, give himself over to the lust of battle so completely that he was not even aware of his comrades fighting for their lives.
> 
> “And yet,” Laufey says, his voice gone low and almost curious, “I also saw _this_ one, who claims the name of Odinson.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All righty! I have beat my head against this chapter enough over the past couple of weeks, and it is finally in good enough shape to see the light of day! Let's see what happens when you get Odin and Laufey to spend a little more time hashing things out, without Thor around to make things worse. And how will this affect Loki? Guess we'll have to see!
> 
> Sensitive readers, remember to check the End Notes; I usually put chapter-specific content warnings in the End Note if they're the least bit spoilery. Nothing much this time, but a little worth warning for.

Hands seize his arms again, but Loki doesn’t even struggle, too caught up in the horror spinning threads inside his mind: _What is this, what did he do, what’s happening to me?_ The colors swirling around him—their possible implications—

Laufey takes him by the throat again, forcing his head up.

“Well, Gatekeeper?” Laufey rumbles, low. “Your king seems to have left behind something of value. Unless he doesn’t want it anymore?”

Again, the grip on Loki’s throat tightens, but this time he doesn’t—can’t—fight it. His entire world is taken up in the thought of his father leaving him behind.

A moment later, the ice around him (living and nonliving alike) reflects a new and even brighter shimmering rainbow, and there’s a sound that he’d almost convinced himself he would never hear again: the rumble of the Bifrost, the snort of Father’s great war horse far behind him.

Trembling in Laufey’s grasp, he doesn’t even try to turn around; he’s not sure what he’d see, what even to hope for anymore. Surely Thor has told— surely Odin has figured out— and if they have, what is to become of him? Why would Father even come back to Jotunheim?

_Dozens, perhaps hundreds of my people, dead at your hands, at the hands of those who came looking to make war_—

It’s the worst thing that Loki has ever done.

Whatever courage he has left in him breaks; his face crumples, and great sobs shake him as he tugs back, struggles to get away. He chokes out a broken “_Please_,” and can’t come up with any more words, even as he twists to try to see his father, to be assured of his presence, no matter how angry or disgusted he must be.

When Laufey suddenly lets go, Loki turns and staggers blindly across the ice, tripping and sliding and rushing as best as he can, toward the sound of Sleipnir, the sound of whatever safety might be left to him. Surely Father will not— he can’t possibly—

The man ahead of him is huge, and through his tears Loki can make out bright, dazzling colors that don’t seem to belong to this land of hoarfrost and frozen stone. They hurt his eyes, and yet he rushes onward, babbling: _I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, it’s my fault, don’t leave me, Father, please don’t leave me, I’m sorry, it’s all my fault_—

He reaches up to grab at his father’s hand—

Odin hisses and pulls away, the skin on his forearm turning cold and black, blistering as Loki jerks back in horror and stumbles away, staring down at his black-nailed hands and the swirls of blue (and other colors, nameless colors) that must now be his skin.

“_No_—” he breathes, and then he’s gasping, rapid breaths that don’t seem to bring in any air at all, and his knees give out right as something bright swirls around him and yanks him into the air, squeezing him tight, no room to struggle or get away even if he could pull himself together enough to try.

He goes limp, barely feeling the warmth; it doesn’t even matter anymore.

* * *

“Allfather,” Laufey rumbles, reaching his side in no particular hurry as Odin secures Loki in front of him, wrapped in his thick red cloak. “You left in such a hurry, I wasn’t sure that you still wanted him.”

Even at his full strength, Odin would have felt the bite of a Jotun’s touch just as keenly as any of his warriors; this low on power, it’s a struggle not to let the pain distract him—to stay calm and alert, as the call to rest grows ever more difficult to resist.

Tucking the last piece of fabric in around his son, he allows himself a brief moment of worry over the boy’s vacant expression and unresisting body. But there are other matters to deal with, and he cannot spare the attention right now.

“Remaining here to face your army with but a handful of children at my side would have been unwise,” he observes, knowing that childhood is no excuse for the son who, hours ago, was nearly given the crown. He adds, firmly, “I have dealt with them.”

“And yet you return alone, for this one, without so much as a guard to watch your back.”

“I do,” Odin says, knowing all too well the risk. “Had I returned with soldiers, it truly would be war between us. I cannot deny that some of my best warriors hunger for it, and yet I still dare to hope, perhaps, that we can find some way to turn this course aside.”

“Diplomacy even now, Allfather? You _have_ grown soft… lounging on the throne, imagining you’re a ‘Protector’ while your son tramples his way across the Nine Realms. Do you think the tales do not reach us, here in the ice? And yet you still think to make him king.”

_There is no one else_, Odin doesn’t say. _The Odinsleep is upon me; I have put it off almost as long as I dare_. Unthinkable, revealing such weakness to Laufey. More yet to explain that this time, he dares not leave Asgard in the hands of the council, as he has before; the sheer amount of unrest across the Nine Realms would leave them open to attack if not for a firm hand on the throne of Asgard, and a clear line of succession.

But the giant’s words remind him, also, of the cause of that unrest. Not all of it, no, but a sizable portion stems back to Thor’s reckless ‘adventures’: the property he’s damaged, the people he’s insulted, the crimes he’s never had to answer for. For all that Asgard loves their golden prince, he’s hardly a welcome sight upon the other Realms.

If only Odin had noticed it—paid attention—while there was still a chance to chart another course. But the lust for battle has been a virtue among the Aesir since long before Odin was born, and only time, and bitter experience, can temper that lust with the wisdom and prudence necessary to be a good king.

“My son has been raised on tales of glory,” Odin says, “and they have undeniably taken root. Had I taken a closer hand in his raising, perhaps he would have heeded my council and developed greater self-restraint, but there is no changing the past. Nor, indeed, the laws of succession: He is the heir.”

Laufey’s lips curl to one side, his eyes gleaming in the scant light that reflects off the ice. “Your heir,” he says, “defied one of your most ancient laws; is there to be no penalty for him, no recompense for us?”

Pausing, Odin considers what he might offer, and whether Laufey is simply vying for the Casket, the one area in which they cannot compromise.

But before he can get far with his musings, Laufey continues: “The Thunderer marched upon Jotunheim, thirsting for blood. I watched him ignore the calming advice of others, and then, over a simple insult, give himself over to the lust of battle so completely that he was not even aware of his comrades fighting for their lives.”

Holding Laufey’s gaze, Odin gives no sign of how deeply the words cut him, even though he’d learned as much from Heimdall. If Thor cannot care for his own shieldmates, those who have staunchly supported him since childhood, how will he care for those whose fates do not affect him? How will he care for Asgard, let alone the rest of the Realms?

“Even when you came to rescue him from his own recklessness,” Laufey snarls, “when there was no further danger to him or his people, I saw him bid for conquest yet again. This rampant bloodlust seems ill-suited to a leader of any kind, let alone the future Allfather.”

The regret wells up inside Odin, and yet he does not give it voice, or even expression; no words of self-reproach or sympathy would be welcomed by the other king.

“And yet,” Laufey says, his voice gone low and almost curious, “I also saw _this_ one, who claims the name of Odinson.”

He draws closer—closer than Odin is comfortable with—and reaches out his giant arm to run a finger down Loki’s cheek, as Loki lies unresponsive in his father’s protective arms. Still unsure whether Laufey has reasoned it out, Odin steels himself for whatever may come.

“I saw him counsel caution,” Laufey says. “I saw him try to talk down a warmonger, only to get mocked for it.”

Frowning, Odin tries to make sense of the approving tone; Laufey has never been one for caution. Has the war—and the aftermath—truly affected him so greatly? Has the past millennium been so hard on Jotunheim that even their king truly wishes to avoid making it worse? Perhaps there _is_ something here that they can work with.

And yet… there is a part of Odin that wishes he had not heard this about Loki, that his son had not, somehow, been raised to shy from battle, to be _wary_.

Thor might have gone too far this time, especially in a situation as volatile as this; as the future king, sworn to cast aside all selfish ambition, it is his duty to defend the Realms against even his own vices. Yet, while Thor might be oblivious to the long-term consequences of his actions, at least it is clear that he has never been a coward.

With Loki, it’s harder to tell. Still young, so there is time, and of course he has the _skill_ to hold his own in combat—even the weakest son of Asgard is raised in the training ring. Alongside Thor, Loki has journeyed across the Nine, and returned with nearly as many battle scars. Odin has never heard of any specific acts of cowardice… but Thor’s friends have oft bragged of their prowess and daring, and chided Loki for hanging back, for hesitating while the others charged, for acting like a scout or a spy instead of a valiant warrior.

_(Odin does take a little comfort in that: If Loki repeatedly chooses tactics that leave him open to mockery, at least he’s outgrown his childish tendency to seek out the approval of others. A prince of Asgard must learn to rise above the opinions of others, relying on his own sense of duty and self-worth.)_

Perhaps it was a mistake to allow Loki to cling so tightly to his mother; she has only encouraged his interest in books and potions and inventions… and the use of seidhr. But Loki is, first and foremost, a prince of Asgard, defender of the Realms; his future is not that of a scholar or merchant, tinker or diplomat.

And Odin knows firsthand what it means to delve deep into the nature of reality, twisting it to his own desires—it is a weight that the Allfather must bear, a burden that coats the soul in darkness with every questionable decision, every misuse of power. It is a burden that Odin would not wish on either of his sons, and yet he knows that one of them must bear it. But perhaps Thor will bear it better than Odin has; with Mjolnir to focus his natural seidhr, Thor might find less cause to resort to the darker arts.

And Loki would be well served to focus his studies less on esoteric matters and more on war history, on tactics; under Thor, he might well become the general in charge of Asgard’s armies. That is, if his courage is up to the task.

But if even Laufey can see Loki’s softer side, then perhaps it is too late to hope for such a bright future.

When Odin holds his peace, Laufey huffs, his breath forming ice crystals in the air.

“When the battle started, I saw his regret,” he says. "And yet he did not shirk from combat, but stood strong and held his own, using what skills he had, both to defend himself and to save the lives of his comrades.” His gaze meets Odin’s again. “The very lives your heir ignored.

“And when the battle overwhelmed them, I saw him sacrifice himself to ensure their escape. At the time, he won my admiration for his courage; now, seeing how profoundly he fears us, it astounds me that he thought first of others, even at cost to himself.”

Dumbfounded, Odin stares at Laufey. Such praise, and from an enemy of Asgard?

The relief that his fears were unfounded is mingled with a deep shame at having doubted the courage of his own son. How much of that doubt had been reasonable? How much stemmed purely from his awareness of Loki’s true nature, and the differences between them?

And yet, he’s never thought the Jotnar to be cowardly—foolhardy, yes, and by that measure perhaps it is Thor who is more like them, but the Jotnar are no less warlike than the Aesir, and have never been ones to run from battle. Driving them back from the shores of Midgard had taken almost more than Odin could muster: All the forces of Asgard at his back, all the might of Gungnir and the Odinforce at play, and still they’d barely won.

Confiscating the Casket—knowing, to some degree, the effect it would have on Jotunheim, both the land itself and the innocent people who dwelt in its caves—had been less an act of justice than one of desperation.

Taking Loki had been part of that desperation. Initially.

“When he stood before me,” Laufey goes on, “so terrified that he was shaking and had trouble forming words, I watched him do his best to master his own fear and stand tall. He must have expected that I was about to kill him, or worse, and yet he did not beg, or bargain, or betray. It was only your arrival that finally made his courage break.

“And now I have watched him apologize, admit his wrong, and seek restoration. The rest, I might have expected from a son of Asgard, but that much surprised me. Still more that it came from the line of Odin.”

For a moment, the two hold gazes with each other, as if daring the other one to break first. Between them, much goes unspoken—questions and confirmations that each refuses to share.

Finally, Laufey murmurs, “You wished for a way for this to end without war.”

“I did,” Odin replies. “I do. Can there be peace between us?”

“What I have seen today,” Laufey says, “has convinced me that if your firstborn takes the throne, there will be nothing between us but war, until one Realm or the other lies as desolate as the ruins of Svartalfheim.”

Wearily, Odin bows his head—not taking his eyes off his enemy, but allowing a moment to mourn the relative peace of the last thousand years, a peace that has, in one day, been shattered by the folly of youth.

“This boy, though,” Laufey says, expression unreadable as he gazes at Loki. “His actions speak to a much different fate. Though young, he shows courage and integrity, wisdom and self-control. If there were ever a chance for lasting peace between our people… I could see it, if _he_ were to take the throne.”

Frozen, Odin finds the objections running through his head: _He’s too young, he’s too unconventional, he can’t even wield a proper sword yet_—and yet, he cannot help but see that Laufey may be right. Today, in defiance of the treaty, Thor attacked Jotunheim and slew perhaps a hundred men; how much worse might he do with the power of the throne behind him, when there is no one to gainsay him but the council, and he might not even bow to their wishes in the first place?

And the traits that he has worried about in Loki—caution, reflection, diplomacy—they may not be valued among the Aesir, but they are vital upon the throne.

And if Loki were on the throne… if Thor could ever accept being under his authority… then what better man to lead them into battle? If, of course, Thor could learn to think of more than his own battle-lust, and keep track of the ones who follow him. But the God of Thunder, general of the armies of Asgard? They would be a force to be reckoned with.

“So this is the deal I make,” Laufey says, thoughtfully. “I will stand down, and we shall throw our dead into the sea and not seek vengeance on their behalf—if, and _only_ if, the warmonger is removed from the line of succession.”

“I must have time,” Odin says. “Time to weigh the consequences. And we must consider whether this is even possible; there are laws—”

“And you would best know how to navigate them,” Laufey returns. “I’m sure that if you thought the matter grave enough, you could find a way to work within the laws as they stand. Or amend them, if need be. I grant you three days in which to do so—I shall even be generous, and allow you to count them by your own sun, instead of ours—but I add one condition to this offer.”

Taking a deep breath, Odin nods. “What would your condition be, then?”

“It seems that the little one believes us to be savages. It would not do for a future king, the Protector of the Nine Realms, to have such an inaccurate view of our people. You shall arrange for this one to come here on diplomatic trips, say for a week every year, from now until the crown rests on his head.”

Odin’s heart clenches painfully in his chest, but there is little he can do but accept the possibility, and call for the Bifrost.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Content Warning:** Loki has a bit of a panic attack. I do love writing panic attacks ^_^
> 
> He's also unresponsive throughout much of this chapter. Which is, largely, a big discussion between Odin and Laufey.
> 
> * * *
> 
> Trying to juggle my fics and my main project; work is a bit slow, but it's coming along. I put together a spreadsheet with info on my unfinished fics, and it's got like thirty entries, a little more than half of them _Person of Interest_ and most of the rest MCU, with only like two fics that aren't one of those two fandoms.
> 
> There's a couple of them that are more time-sensitive than the rest, so I'm hoping to work on them next, but the rest are sorted pretty well into priority slots, ranging from 12 (my Yearly Retrospective, argh why is it February already) to 1 (_Manipulations_, which I'd still like to add to), and I just realized that I didn't add my Hiatus fics (_Best-Case Scenario_ and _Acceptable Loss_)... whoops, gotta go add those.
> 
> That's not even counting the fics I have planned to start at some point, once I've ticked off a few of these pieces.
> 
> On the up side, most of the pieces have a concrete or relatively concrete sense of how many chapters they take, and they're almost all in the 2-5 range. _Nippitaty_ has only one chapter to go to close it down, but I need a good long brainstorming session with my beta to figure out how to accomplish that. Two other pieces have only one chapter to write, so they've been bumped up a bit in the hopes that I can complete them and take them off the dang list.
> 
> Would be nice to get this list to go _down_ instead of _up_.
> 
> Sigh....
> 
> Ah, well, at least the in-progress works I've made are interesting! That's the fun part (for both writer and reader). And I hope to _eventually_ finish them all, or at least most of them, so it's mostly a matter of "butt in chair, fingers on keyboard." As usual ^_^


	4. Slow Thaw

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Odin returns to Asgard with Loki in his arms and a darker burden in his heart.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope y'all enjoyed the April Fools' Day version! I had quite a lot of fun (and stress) setting up the event, but I managed to find a couple dozen people interested in participating, and I guess it remains to be seen how many actually wrote up pieces within the themes (Body Swap and Involuntary Transformation). "The Great Loki Swap" that I'd intended became "The Little Loki Swap" because most people are understandably a bit too busy to participate, but at least we got some great pieces out of the idea.
> 
> (So for those who showed up late: The first round of comments on this chapter refers to a version that is now posted as a separate fic [here](https://archiveofourown.org/works/30420945).)
> 
> Content warnings for this chapter are mild, but in the End Note in case anyone needs them.
> 
> Here, then, is the actual update, as Odin brings his boy home:

As expected, Heimdall is waiting for them when Odin opens his eyes in the observatory, the light of the Bifrost fading behind him.

“Keep an eye on Laufey,” Odin says, and then adds, “No one is to use the Bifrost until I authorize it.”

“As you command,” Heimdall acknowledges, even as Odin is urging Sleipnir on toward the palace, all too conscious of the fragile burden in his arms.

Rarely does Odin second-guess his own decisions, but the short race across the rainbow bridge gives him enough time to curse himself for not taking greater steps to ensure that his sons would never set foot on Jotunheim. How could he have thought it sufficient to simply forbid passage? How often has his eldest ignored the rules, pushed back against every command until some greater consequence has been necessary to bring him back in line?

Well. The consequences have become dire indeed.

As they approach the gates, Odin tucks his cloak more carefully around his son, ensuring that no one will see him as they pass; he can only hope that Loki will not regain his senses until they have taken shelter in the palace, hidden away from any prying eyes. There has been enough scandal today—even the _hint_ of a rumor about Loki’s true heritage would surely destroy any hope Odin has of salvaging the situation.

Because as much as Odin wishes there were some other solution, it has come down to this: He has three days to remove Thor from the line of succession. If he fails to do so—if he still thinks to put Thor on the throne—then there will be war. And while the forces of Jotunheim, weak as they are after the loss of the heart of their Realm, are no great threat to the forces of Asgard, there is more at stake than just a few warriors’ lives.

Asgard, after all, has been tasked with defending the Nine. To fail in that task would be dishonor enough; to actively work against the peace would be unthinkable. And if the other Realms became aware that Asgard had become a threat? Any single Realm could not stand against them, but a coalition of Vanaheim, Alfheim, and Nidavellir, with the might of honor on their side, could well bring Asgard to its knees.

No, there is far more at stake here than a single war.

Mere hours ago, Thor had been on the cusp of receiving the crown, and he had sworn himself, before the Norns, to bear the burden of the Allfather: to cast aside self-interest in order to uphold the good of the Realms, guarding them against all manner of threats, preserving the peace no matter what cost he might be forced to bear. The same oath that Odin had pledged himself to, like his father before him, back when he had ascended to the throne.

Oaths sworn before the Norns set up a mystical framework for the future, for good or ill—and it has not escaped Odin’s notice that Thor has already broken two of the three. Perhaps all three, if one counted Thor himself as a threat to the Realms. There _must_ be consequences, swift and painful ones, lest the Norns decide to take their own hand in punishing not only the oathbreaker, but those who have empowered him.

_(And has Odin not empowered Thor, all these centuries?)_

Or perhaps that is why Thor will never take the throne. Perhaps the curses have already begun, and all Odin can do is find some way to mitigate the consequences for the Realm.

Whatever might come of Loki’s rise to power, it cannot compare with the wrath of the Norns.

(Which is not to say that it will be easy, or without cost. But Odin has more than enough experience handling the costly side of diplomatic disasters.)

Lacking the strength to cast even a simple glamour, Odin gallops through the city without pause, heading directly for the entrance to the warriors’ wing. Avoiding the main street would give rise to the kind of rumors they can ill afford, but the more straightforward rumors from his entrance—the Allfather fresh from Jotunheim, a person-sized bundle in his arms, barreling straight for the healing hall—might well serve to explain Loki’s absence from public life, at least in the short term.

After this shock, there’s no telling how long Loki might need to pull himself together, and Odin will give him that time, as much as it is in his power to bestow.

If he is honest with himself, Odin knows that he had never planned to be honest with Loki. Not unless it was forced upon him. If he could have ensured that Loki would never learn the truth, then he would have taken that route, and he was foolish enough to believe that the revelation, if not completely preventable, could at least be delayed another few centuries, perhaps a millennium or two. Or spun in a different way: Loki is a shapeshifter, long used to his Aesir form, and perhaps he could have been persuaded that the Jotun form was something he’d created to defend himself.

No. Loki is far too clever to have been deceived so handily, and it is only Odin’s cowardice that made him delay so long.

* * *

A sudden arrested drop brings him out of his mind fog, the blankness that has held him together thus far. There’s pressure around his shoulders, his knees, and he’s cocooned, rocked with quick, harsh movements as muffled sound makes it to his ears.

_Frigga, at once_.

—_stable, then_—

—_no one else enter, not even Thor_—

Nothing is visible but the sharp, too-bright color too close to his eyes. His own breath is cold against his face—

No.

The whimpers start before his mind even catches up to the idea, and then he’s struggling against the cocoon, but the pressure only grows tighter, holding him in. Defeated, he goes limp again, his mind filled with that one awful moment, his father’s arm going black where he’d grabbed at it, foolishly hoping for comfort instead of confirmation of all his nightmares brought to life.

He’s a frost giant.

He doesn’t know _how_ he’s a frost giant, but the evidence is pretty damning. And the tales he grew up with could never have prepared him for this. Savage beasts with unquenchable appetites who hungered for Aesir flesh, certainly. _(Does he now hunger for Aesir flesh? His gut is tight and queasy, but he doesn’t think it’s hunger.)_ The Jotnar have the power to freeze with a touch _(confirmed)_, but… he can’t recall what other powers got mentioned. The power to turn a victim into one of their own?

_(There might be other explanations, but his mind shies from considering the possibilities.)_

Odin has powers beyond those of any other Aesir; perhaps that is also true for Laufey, to have powers that his people do not.

His _monsters_.

His _people_.

Which are they?

The pounding of his head grows worse, and he wants everything to just go away. To not have to deal with it for… to not _ever_ have to deal with it.

But his father’s words come back to him: _Once you know the truth, adjust yourself to it and move on. Do not expect reality to shape itself to your whims._

It’s not that simple, of course; those who use seidhr are adjusting reality to their desires, at least to some degree. But the basic principle holds: Accept the truth, and deal with it as it comes, instead of wishing it were elsewise.

If he could manage to still his whirling thoughts long enough to see a way forward…

The pressure across his shoulders lessens as he’s laid across something. The cocoon is still tight as the fabric across his face is drawn open, and he blinks up through tear-blurred eyes at more of the colors that aren’t _right_.

“Loki?” his father asks gently, and he finds the blur that has to be Odin, the golden patch across one eye.

He can’t make out the expression. Angry, disgusted, concerned? Closing his eyes, he swallows, but whatever words he might have used have fled.

“You’re in the healing wing,” Eir’s voice floats from somewhere nearby, along with the soft clatter of equipment being set out. “You’re safe. It’s just me and your father; your mother will be here soon.”

“Thor?” Loki thinks to ask. Not that Odin would be bothering with _him_, if his eldest were still in any danger.

“Your idiot brother is fine,” Odin says darkly. “Physically. You need not worry about him right now,” he adds, a little calmer.

But right now, worrying about Thor is easier than thinking on other things. And Thor will be… enraged, if anything happened to his friends. “The others?”

“Well enough,” Eir answers. “No limbs lost, at any rate. Perhaps they’ll think twice about charging into forbidden Realms, but given past experience I rather doubt it. Speaking of limbs,” she adds, her tone growing exasperated, “will you let me tend to you?”

Odin shakes his head, still looking down at Loki, and for a moment Loki is confused, wondering how his father got hurt.

Then the image returns, and he starts to shake.

The cocoon holds him in, binds his limbs; he can’t even turn away. “I hurt you,” he cries, closing his eyes tight against the reality.

“I’ve gone through worse, and recovered,” Odin rumbles.

Eir huffs. “Only because you let the healers tend to you right away. Will you let me look—”

“You will stay in the healing wing,” Odin declares, stern but not harsh. “A command from your king and father both.” A squeeze to Loki’s shoulder; Loki almost jerks away, but the pressure is unexpectedly comforting. “Stay here, and let Eir do what she can; your brother’s rash actions tonight have done more harm than either of you can know, and there are matters that I must attend to without delay.”

Loki doesn’t move. He can’t make himself say the words, not yet.

The cocoon loosens as Odin lets go.

“I owe you answers,” Odin adds, solemnly. “When I am able, I will provide them. Until then… I know you are prone to thinking the worst of things, but I bid you not to act on your thoughts until I have had a chance to talk with you; there is only so much damage control I can manage in such a short time. I will return, and I wish to find you here, and safe. Can you trust me in this?”

Numbly, Loki nods, though he’s not even sure if he means it.

“For now, think on this: Whatever else you are, or think you are, you are still _Loki_, first and foremost, and that will never change. And for all my frustrations with you, I am proud to call you my son.”

The hand moves up to the side of his neck, squeezes gently through the cape, and then is gone.

There’s a slight falter to the footsteps that hurry toward the door, and then they, too, are gone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Content Warnings:** Mention of that not-exactly-cannibalism stereotype about Jotnar hungering for Aesir flesh. Mild claustrophobic imagery (caught/held in a blanket), mild ableist language ("idiot"). And it's subtext, but Odin's a bit worried that Loki might run off and hurt or kill himself.
> 
> * * *
> 
> Next Up (maybe; we all know how good I am at predicting the future): Odin deals with Thor and his friends. I've got something special planned for that one and I can't wait to explore it ^_^
> 
> But as I'm hosting a writing event (all during April) and also participating in a fic exchange (due May 14th), it'll be a while before I can move on to the next chapter here. In the meantime, if you've got ideas about what ought to happen to Thor and the gang -- something a little different from how it played out in canon -- do bring them up! I always love seeing other possibilities ^_^
> 
> Man, these past couple weeks have been stressful. But I pulled together a good chunk of what I intended, so I'm feeling pretty satisfied.
> 
> Incidentally, my original note (when this was a spoof chapter) mentioned that **Scrivener 3** has come out, and how anyone who bought a copy of the first version gets either a steep discount on the new version, **or a free copy** if they bought it recently enough. That's true! I totally did get a free upgrade of Scrivener because, a couple years ago, I got a copy of the original for 50% off thanks to beating NaNoWriMo. Score! (I'm looking forward to figuring out how this thing works, whenever I find the time; sounds like it's got some improved functions that I'll find immensely useful.)


End file.
